Libera nos a Malo
by 0positiv
Summary: Torture was so not part of his job description... Warning: Torture and Violence
1. Libera nos a Malo

**Author's note:** Be warned, here there be monsters. There is some violence and torture and blood in this fic so if that's not your cup of tea better stop reading right now. Still reading? Good. I hope you'll like it :) oh and one more thing: Nothing mine, not making money with this, yada, yada...

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„Do you know why he's making _me_ do this? Because he knows I'll hate it. He knows that even the thought of doing this makes me feel like I'm going to heave."

He sighs defeatedly and leans against the wall, clenched fists buried in the pockets of his trousers. His whole body is tense.

"Everyone knows that this is the kind of thing that Fergus loves doing. That little ferret must be fuming that Hal didn't let him do this. Or more likely he's laughing because _I_ have to do it. Yeah, he's definitely laughing."

He frowns and pulls his shoulders up towards his ears in a slow, languid shrug, too short shirt sleeves riding up his arms to reveal thin wrists. The jacket had been discarded as soon as he entered the room, thrown messily over one of the horizontal bars of the cell door without worry about creases or stains.

"He could have asked Roy or Jack or whatever those thugs are called. They would have been a much better choice. _They _would have known how to do this. But no, he tells _me_ to do it. And he knows that I can't say no to him. Won't _dare_ to say no to him. And I've only googled this stuff, I have no experience, no idea what I'm even supposed to do."

He pushes off the wall and walks over to the stainless steel table like a sulking child, all hunched and frowning. He looks over the arrangement of tools with his hands still in his pockets. The flecks of dried blood make the corners of his mouth turn down in disgust.

"Torture isn't part of my job description."

He coughs out a bitter, humourless laugh.

"But then my job has pretty much become obsolete. No use for solicitors these days. No use for secrecy. No arrests, no courts, no law suits. Just _him_. Judge and jury. Only fangs and fists and no subtlety at all. That's the Old One's for you. It would all have gone so much smoother if he'd listened to me. But _no_…."

A weary sigh escapes his lips. Then he shakes his head as if trying to shake off the memories. The bitter taste of rejection is still pungent even two years later. He can still hear Hal laugh, see the dismissal on Snow's face, see their stupid, uncomprehending cave man faces as he explains his plan. You can take the Old Ones out of the middle ages but you can't get the middle ages out of their minds. Those stupid senile lumps of meat hardly know how to operate a TV remote. All they know is mindless immediate violence.

"It's completely their fault we've only very narrowly avoided running out of food. What were they thinking? _Were_ they thinking? You can't just kill or recruit every human in your path, it's just dumb. How would there be any left afterwards if _that_ is your strategy to win this war?"

His eyes flicker momentarily to the prisoner as if waiting for a reaction. Seeing the blank look on the other man's face he lifts an eyebrow.

"You're really not the most talkative fellow. Hal said you haven't spoken even one word since Fergus and his marry band of miscreants captured you and your people outside London. I'm actually impressed you managed to stake one of the idiots before they knocked you out. You're only human after all…."

He trails off, gaze returning to the table. He reaches out one hand towards the tools, slowly, carefully, like reaching for a poisonous snake then recoils as if in fear before touching them. He backs away from the table fist once again burried in his pocket, and circles the man standing in the middle of the room. The prisoner's feet were chained to the floor, his hands chained to the ceiling, forcing him to stand upright all the time. His arms must have gone numb by now. His eyes travel over the prisoner's ripped and dirty grey suit, the unbuttoned shirt and waistcoat, with barely any interest. One foot pushes away the discarded grey tie, coiled on the floor like a dead snake.

"You really should just tell me what I want to know, Mr. Rook…Dominic. Can I call you Dominic? We were practically doing the same job, you know, before? We're practically colleagues. I am a big fan of your work, actually. You are extraordinary. A human making sure all the rest of his kind can sleep safely believing there are no monsters prowling the night. In some way your work actually helped the Old Ones with their take over, you know? They just had to get rid of the governments, the ones who knew about us, as quickly as possible. All the other sheep were too busy picking their jaws off the floor afterwards to form an effective defence. It just took them too long to finally believe that there actually are vampires. Some didn't even want to believe it while one ripped out their throat. That's humans for you."

He stops his circling in front of the other man looking up at his face. He studies the bruised features, skin so white even a human could see the veins beneath it. He licks his lips as the craving hits him like a fist in the gut. When was the last time he'd fed? Yesterday? No, must have been at least two days ago.

"And even after all you've done, all your work, suddenly didn't mean anything anymore because the entire world knew about us you didn't just sulk in your bunker or something. No, you went and joined the resistance. Did they ever really accept you, Dominic? Did they ever really trust you? The man for whom lies and deceit are second nature? Did they ever really appreciate your outstanding mind?"

He started pacing the cell again not really expecting an answer by this time.

"You're a strong man, Dominic, strong and ruthless. You didn't even blink when Hal had all your people killed in front of you. Not even when Hal took his time with that girl of yours. What was her name again? Nadya? Natalia? It was one of those names Eastern European whores have. Oh and how she cried and sobbed your name, over and over. It was heartbreaking, really. And yet….and yet you didn't seem to care at all."

He takes a deep unnecessary breath before reaching out towards the table again. He gingerly picks up a knife, fingers unwillingly closing around the stained and sticky handle. The blade is shining and sharp. With clenched teeth and lips compressed to a thin line he makes a shallow cut from the prisoner's right shoulder to his left hip. Drops of blood follow the path of the knife, beading slowly on the edge of the parted skin before running down to soak into his trousers. The prisoner tenses a little at the sharp pain but no sound escapes his lips. The knife shaking slightly in his tense grip he makes another cut alongside the first one. This cut is slightly deeper, the blood flows slightly faster, making him swallow as he watches it draw red paths on white skin. He feels his eyes scorch black, the desire to rip the prisoner's throat out singing a siren song in his head. He drops the knife and turns away, mumbling to himself to calm down, to get a grip. He repeatedly wipes his hands on his trousers as he laughs dryly.

"See, I really don't have any idea what I'm doing, and I'm really, really hungry. I might very well end up accidentally killing you if you don't tell me what I want to know."

He turns back around when he has a firm grip on himself again, when his eyes hide the burning hunger once more. He thinks he sees a tiny flicker of emotion in the other man's eyes, something like hope.

"What? Oh no, don't think you'll get off that easily. The information Hal thinks you have is way too important to allow you to take it to the grave. And that is why I've been ordered to recruit you if you start dying on me. Not like I've ever recruited anyone before but if Fergus can manage it I'm sure I can as well. It will hurt, of course. And you'll be scared, terrified, at what you'll see. But who knows, it might change your mind about keeping your silence. Maybe if you're one of us you'll be more inclined to help us…?"

He nods to himself as he picks up the knife again. He visibly steels himself before making another cut to intersect the two already existing ones. This time the prisoner can't contain a groan as the knife scrapes over his rips, cutting into the bone slightly, nearly getting stuck. With shaking hands the knife gets put back on the table. The blade is blunt now, coated in a thin film of drying blood.

"Maybe I should just recruit you right away? I bet if I do and we just leave you here the hunger, the craving, will be a worse torture than anything I could do to you now. Believe me, I know how terrible it can get, how it claws at your insides and makes you want to rip off your own skin and tear out your hair. It will eat away at you until you're nothing but hunger and fury."

He watches the other man's face, sees the tiny movement of muscles as he clenches his teeth, sees his eyes momentarily flicker away and lose the staring contest.

"That's the only thing you're actually afraid of, isn't it? Becoming one of us, one of the monsters. Oh how you must have looked down on us before."

He steps up close to the other man, so close their chests nearly touch, eyes fixed on the pulse beating in his neck. He licks his lips again and watches the blood flow sluggishly down over chest and abdomen.

"Yes, I think that would be best. Don't you, Dominic?"

He sounds distracted, like he isn't even aware that he's talking, as he slowly leans down to lick up some of the spilled blood, to lightly suck at the deepest wound. As soon as the first blood touches his tongue his eyes scorch black again and he gives in. He grips the other man's head and leans close to his face, close enough to feel his prisoner's breath on his lips, close enough to see the pupils dilate in fear. He harshly pulls at the blond hair, stretching the neck for easier access.

"Now look what you made me do…"

The prisoner screams as he feels the fangs tear at his neck. He whimpers at the sudden disorienting feeling of light-headedness as his blood pressure drops and his heart speeds up to compensate. His heart is strong but it fights a futile battle. He is barely conscious and too thirsty to refuse when a bleeding wrist is pressed against his lips and he gulps down the cold blood like water. Then his heart stops and Cutler sinks back into a chair, wiping the blood off his face with a shaking hand. He starts his prisoner's stop watch to see how long it will take him to awaken then closes his eyes to enjoy the rush, the satisfying feeling of hunger being sated.


	2. Gloria in Saecula

**Author's note:** Because the muses decided to plague me with fic ideas during work. And such ideas... Here there be some slash and implied naughtiness. Don't like don't read.

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They have been staring at each other for five minutes, silently, black eyes reflected in green eyes, a battle of wills. Dominic lost. Of course he did, Cutler had learned from the best. The human screams as the new recruit violently bites into his neck.

It had taken Rook 20 hours and 15 minutes to the second to awaken. Nick would have guessed a day…or maybe never. After all, Dominic Rook would rather die than become a monster. But, it seems, he changed his mind _over there_. Or maybe _they_ just did not allow him to stay. No one likes a government employee, not even the Men with Sticks and Rope. And yes, he did think of them just like this, with capital letters, sometimes even with bold and blood red capital letters.

Even all those decades later the memory of them makes Nick shiver and gives him the itching feeling at the back of his neck you get when someone stares at you from behind. No wonder vampires feared death. They knew exactly who and what waited for them behind that door.

A moan dragged him out of his morbid thoughts. His recruit – it was still a very strange thought, Rook, the head of the mysterious _Men in Grey_, _his_ recruit – his recruit looked at him with eyes wide and scorched black, unconsciously licking his brand new and never used fangs.

He was hungry, starving, ravenous, for the last thing his old, dying body ever tasted, the only thing his new body would ever long for. The one thing he would crave more than he used to crave any vice he might have had before.

"Was it…real?" His voice was raw and breaking from lack of use. "Were… they…real?"

Cutler put away his phone thinking he'd never have won that game of Mahjong anyway.

"Yeah, it was real. Scary bastards, aren't they?" He loudly slapped his hands together startling his recruit. "But you're back now, they can't get you. Unless you end up proper dead that is, then they _will_ get you. So let's make sure that doesn't happen, shall we?"

Dominic's eyes had wandered from Cutler's face to his hands and then to the table he had been sitting at. There was a glass decanter on it and two glasses.

"Are you hungry? You must be parched. I remember I was after I woke up."

Nick lifted the decanter and filled one of the glasses. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip, his eyes never leaving his recruit's face. He saw Dominic lick his lips again, saw him strain a little against the manacles as every cell in his body was unconsciously drawn towards the blood.

"It's not exactly fresh, I'm afraid, and the anticoagulant always makes it taste a little bit off. It's like a cake with too much lemon juice in it, my mother used to do that sometimes. It's still edible but not as good as it could be."

He stood up and slowly walked over to Rook to hold the glass up to his face just that tiny bit out of reach.

"But I'm sure you won't mind, will you?" When there had still been no answer after a minute Nick took the glass back and took another sip.

"So you don't want it then?"

He had barely finished the sentence when Dominic let out a stained whimper.

"No…yes…I mean I want it, I won't mind."

Cutler smiled. "There really is no need for false modesty, Dominic. I know exactly what you're going through, I've been there myself. I know how _desperately_ every part of you can scream for blood."

He took two steps forward bringing him so close to his recruit that their chests were nearly touching.

"Cheers then, to your new life." Cutler held the glass to Rook's lips and slowly tipped it up. He let the sluggish red fluid run teasingly slow into the eager, open mouth.

When the glass was empty he took it away and carefully with his thumb wiped off a stray drop gleaming on Dominic's chin.

"There, doesn't that feel better now?"

His recruit's eyes were closed, his body slightly tense. Oh how Nick remembered that first taste of blood, that _feeling_, that _satisfaction_, that had been better than anything he had ever felt before.

He slowly drew a finger over the bare chest of his prisoner. The wounds were gone, healed during whatever happened to turn the living into the not-quite-dead, blood-stain clothes all that remained to prove he had ever been wounded. He felt the other man shiver under his touch. Nick remembered Hal doing this to him, demonstrating how the blood makes everything so much more intense, so much more pleasurable. He placed his palm over his recruit's heart, cold skin against cold skin, a gesture much more dominating than tender.

When he took his hand away again Dominic opened his eyes. They were not quite his usual bright blue yet, still dark with a hunger that was far from sated. He had given the man dying of thirst half a glass of water. It would sooth his burning mouth for a while but then the thirst would return and it would be even more unbearable than before.

Nick stepped back and poured himself another glass.

"I'll give you some time to think things through, shall I? Maybe you'll find it in your best interest to tell me what we want to know. You'll be rewarded if you do."

He tapped a nail against the decanter before leaving the cell. Another 24 hours should be enough.

After exactly 24 hours and ten minutes Nick returns to the cell. He is ten minutes late because Fergus misplaced the batteries for the camera and he had to look for new ones. He carefully arranges camera and tripod while one of Fergus' thugs pushes a dazed human into the cell and shuts the door.

"I thought we should record this. You've always been so fond of recordings, haven't you, Dominic? Maybe one day you'll want to watch your first kill. You can't see us, of course, but it will still be entertaining."

He presses a button to start the recording.

"I won't kill him." The protest sounds weak, like he doesn't 100 percent believe in it himself.

"I won't kill anyone….and I won't tell you…anything."

Cutler tuts as he walks over to Rook. "Take it from someone who's been on exactly that route you _will_ kill, and you will kill _whoever _I want you to kill. Trying to fight me will only make it more painful for you."

He tenderly pats Dominic's cheek only just in time taking his hand away as the other man snaps at it with gleaming fangs.

"I will _not_ kill anyone for you." His black eyes are filled with rage and hunger and defiance and most of all pride.

Cutler turns around sharply and drags the human up off the floor. The man had been bled repeatedly and he was now "past his best by date" as Fergus had so charmingly put it. One more bleeding and he'd die anyway. No more use to their little experimental blood farm. But he was just right for this little experiment.

He forces the man towards Rook, makes him lean against the prisoner for support. The human mumbles something unintelligibly his fumbling fingers clinging to the stained and torn grey suit. Cutler reaches around and brings Dominic's head closer to his victim's neck. Their eyes meet over the human's shoulder, black eyes trying to stare down green ones.

Nick doesn't speak, doesn't move, just stares at his recruit, meets his anger with the calmness of someone who knows he's the one pulling all the strings. After all, he had learned from Hal Yorke. He takes out a pocket knife and makes the tiniest of cuts on the human's arm while his eyes never look away from Rook's. He can exactly pinpoint the moment his recruit smells the blood, can see his nostrils quiver and his eyes flicker downwards. He pushes the human slightly closer still as Dominic looks at him again, pleadingly this time, begging him silently to not lead him into temptation. Cutler just waits and soon his recruit gives in and with the viciousness of a starving lion drives his fangs into the human's neck.

The screams are surprisingly loud for such a weakling. Cutler studies his recruit's face, every tiny twitch of his muscles as he drinks down the blood. He studies his white eyelashes and the slight movement of his eyeballs behind closed lids.

"Slowly, don't rush it, don't make yourself sick. You still have to get used to it. Savour it."

To his surprise he sees Dominic obey. He now doesn't gulp down the blood as hurriedly as he did before, his Adam's apple not bobbing up and down quite as fast any longer.

"Yes, like that, that's good."

Supporting the human with one hand Nick reaches his other around to unbutton Rook's trousers. He pushes his hand down the front of his pants and cups his groin.

He chuckles at the tiny startled yelp the other man makes before he relaxes against the touch. He is very evidently quite aroused. Nick knows exactly what to do about that.

He is still languidly moving his hand when the human drops dead over to one side. Rook's eyes slowly open again, bright blue now but the pupils dilated so far they might as well still be black. He does not protest so Cutler moves closer, gets more daring and lightly bites down on his recruit's neck with blunt teeth in the exact same spot where he has drained him not even two days ago.

Rook lets out a drawn out moan, his head falling back as he's overwhelmed by the sensations Nick is causing with his hand and lips on top of the blood-drunkenness. He doesn't last long. Cutler pulls away and wipes his hand on a handkerchief. His prisoner looks exhausted and a little defeated. He drops the handkerchief onto the human and pulls Dominic's head closer for a violent kiss.

Cutler turns off the camera and carries it over to the door. He calls for the gimp with the keys to unlock it and take care of the leftovers.

Before he leaves he turns back to his slumped over recruit. Calm and collected like nothing out of the ordinary had happened he nods at him.

"Don't try and defy me again."

He gets no reply.


End file.
